


Jumpstart My Heart

by itsallaboutzarry



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Artist Zayn, First Time, Friends to Lovers, Graduation, M/M, Nerd Harry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-21
Updated: 2015-10-21
Packaged: 2018-04-23 11:29:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,427
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4875022
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/itsallaboutzarry/pseuds/itsallaboutzarry
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“All done.” Harry smiles at them.<br/>“Fucking finally. Niall is already pissed.”<br/>“Can you blame him? We’re done man, I think we’re all getting pissed tonight.”<br/>“Harry’s getting pissed?” Zayn asks too excitedly for Harry’s comfort.</p><p>Or, the one where Harry doesn't know what he's missing. But it isn't his fault, because Harry's good with numbers, not people.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Jumpstart My Heart

**Author's Note:**

  * For [gloria_andrews](https://archiveofourown.org/users/gloria_andrews/gifts).



> I know you wanted a nerd Harry, but I hope a math geek Harry will be good enough, since I found he's a lot of fun to write. I also didn't quite follow your prompt, but it's mostly there, promise.
> 
> Big thanks to the lovely person who read this over. All mistakes that remain are mine, of course. 
> 
> The title comes from Major Lazer's song Powerful.
> 
> Think that's it.

 

* * *

 

Freshman

Freshman year is over. Harry won’t ever have to pack his favorite things with his mom crying over his shoulder while she reminisces about the days when he hadn’t mastered walking and talking. Harry won’t have to go to the store with a half made list of supplies that he thought were necessary to have in a dorm. Harry won’t ever have to live in a dorm again. Gone are the days of stuffy headphones that hug his ears tightly enough to muffle the noises outside his door. And so are the days of rooming with Nick – who Harry genuinely loves, just not as a person that shares half of Harry’s tidy living space. Harry won’t ever have to look at – and smell – Nick’s dirty socks on the floor.

Harry knows where all the classrooms and lecture halls and professor’s offices are. Next year, he won’t have to run around campus searching for the Math Lab which is right next to Girvetz Hall, where Harry was standing when he couldn’t find the damn place. It’s all over.

Harry doesn’t have to go to all of those freshman parties that Nick and Louis had to drag him to. He doesn’t have to get drink on command anymore, like when Louis pushed a cup against his lips and started chanting drink, drink, because it’s over. Finals are over and summer is officially here and so is the mathematics summer research program that Harry has been excited for since winter. He still can’t quite believe he actually got in, that he was one of the undergraduates that were chosen for the program. It’s going to be worth all of Louis’ mocking and Nick’s complaints about being left alone for the summer. It’s not like he and Louis are going to be attached at the hip during summer, not at all.

But, as much as it’s over and as hard as Harry tried to get out of it with excuses varying from sudden illness to a serious emergency that involved him sleeping for two weeks, Louis didn’t budge about the party – the end of the semester, end of the school year party that everybody goes to. Harry doubts he would be missed if he didn’t go. Alas, both Louis and Nick made him, literally made him promise that he was going to go and drink – at least a little – and have fun, socialize and forget about numbers for a night.

That last part, about forgetting numbers, that is going to be the hardest. Harry can go to the beach and drink, sure, not a problem. And he can have fun too; he’s not incompetent, not completely. But he won’t be able to forget differential and integral calculus or linear equations and matrix algebra. It’s all in his head, the graphs and the numbers, adding and multiplying and flying in front of his eyes, because his last final was this morning. Of course it’s still all in his head. And Harry prefers it that way too.

But Harry’s trying to at least put it somewhere to the back of his mind for tonight, because he should try to have fun away from textbooks and Professor Morrison explaining the solutions to algebraic equations. Harry can have fun just like most people do, with a drink in his hand, surrounded by his friends.

“You’re gonna wear that?” Louis asks when Harry stands in front of the mirror to see if his hair is cooperating with him tonight.

“What’s wrong with what I’m wearing?” Harry thought he looked okay in his new jeans that Nick insisted he buy when they went shopping for tonight – Harry really only went to keep him company. Jeans and a simple black shirt – Harry doesn’t get what’s wrong with that.

“It’s kind of plain,” Louis shrugs. “Don’t you want to stand out a little? I know you have a couple of wild shirts in your closet.”

“Louis,” Nick warns, but it’s nothing Harry isn’t used to.

“I’m only trying to help,” Louis raises his hands and literally falls down on Nick’s bed. “You look dashing, Harry. Really.”

“Really,” Nick affirms with a nod.

“Thank you.”

“Why did you think you could help?” Nick asks as he fixes his own hair, making sure it sticks up into the air like usually, like Harry has seen him do every morning. “Who has ever told you that your help is useful?”

Harry’s always liked them together, Louis and Nick. They’re sort of made for each other, in a twisted day, with their snide comments and mocking and smirks that Harry doesn’t want to know the meaning of half the time.

“Oh, I’ve been told so repeatedly last night.”

“Is this your way of telling me you’ve been cheating?”

“Oh yeah,” Louis clasps his hands behind his head and smiles devilishly. “You should meet him sometimes, I think you’d like him.”

“I would?” Nick quirks an eyebrow in the mirror, his eyes gleaming with what Harry supposes is either mirth or pure awe of how lucky he is. He’s told Harry on more than one occasion, drunk on every one of them, that he’s going to marry Louis one day, whether the boy agrees or not.

“You’d love him,” Louis starts. “He’s hot, handsome and slightly rugged, you know, manly, but with incredible style. Not to mention his bedroom skills.”

“Are you finished blowing up each other’s egos?” Zayn asks first thing when he comes into the room, amused but clearly bored. “I want to start drinking.”

“All done,” Harry smiles at them all.

“Fucking finally. Niall is already pissed.”

“Can you blame him? We’re done man, I think we’re all getting pissed tonight.”

“Harry’s getting pissed?” Zayn asks too excitedly for Harry’s comfort.

“Probably not,” Harry shrugs and thinks it’s a definite no. He can’t get drunk if he’s driving him and Nick home tomorrow. It’s a long drive from Santa Barbara to Modesto, too long to spend it with a hung-over Nick as it is.

“A little?” Zayn smiles happily and Harry knows he only means good, that he isn’t hoping for Harry to throw up or be sick, so Harry nods and shrugs a little, smiles back and blushes too.

Harry doesn’t know why Zayn insist on hanging out with them, the three losers and Niall – because everyone is friends with Niall, the happy happy guy on campus that everyone knows. But them, Harry who is mathematics major, Louis the drama queen engineer and Nick, who claims he studies media, but Harry isn’t sure he’s ever been to a single class. Zayn though, the cool art major that tags walls like it’s the reason he’s been put on this planet, doesn’t really fit into their group of weirdoes. Harry can’t go around campus without seeing at least five Z’s on his way – he’s counted, more than once. Harry doesn’t get it, but he doesn’t mind, thinks it’s actually kind of brilliant when it’s not completely overwhelming to have Zayn’s eyes on him, his honey colored eyes that get brighter in the dark – which Harry still thinks defies physics – but then again, he’s only good at math and physics’ never been his thing.

“Great,” Zayn’s says, still smiling as Louis jumps off the bed and into Nick.

“Shall we?”

-

The party is loud and big and really very loud. It’s on the beach, because someone wanted to build the biggest bonfire ever, so having a lot of sand around isn’t actually a bad idea, but it’s getting in Harry’s shoes and it’s still very loud. There are more people than even Harry would want to count and he knows all seven of them. But, it is actually kind of fun.

Harry’s never liked parties or big gatherings in general, because he’s always afraid to be left alone, to be standing in the middle of a crowd of unfamiliar faces that don’t bother to even look at him in passing, but he hasn’t been alone all night.

When they came, Niall really was already drunk, hiccuping and everything, which caused Louis to laugh for about ten minutes straight, after which Harry thought Louis was going to pass out. But as soon as Liam joined them and fist bumped Zayn – Harry thought people didn’t fist bump anymore – they did shots. Harry did shots. Well, he did half a shot and after five minutes of coughing, he did the other half. Nick and Louis disappeared into the mass of people to grind on each other in public – Harry doesn’t concern himself with his friend’s kinks – and Niall went back to the bar, to throw back more shots probably. So Harry is there, close enough to the fire to feel the pleasant warmth, but far enough to still feel safe. And so are Zayn and Liam.

“I don’t know man, I don’t think she likes me,” Liam says for the third time in the last ten minutes. He has a crush, a massively huge crush on the girl to the far left from what Harry’s managed to understand. Her name is Sophia and she is apparently the most beautiful girl in the whole world. Harry gets that, kind of.

“Of course she likes you, Liam, don’t be dumb,” Zayn assures, just like he did the last two times before.

“How do you know, though?” Liam almost whines. “Like, what if she thinks I’m stupid?”

“Why would she think you’re stupid? You’re major is engineering for fuck’s sake. It’s not math, but it’s still pretty impressive,” Zayn says and shoots Harry a wink. “ And you play football,” he goes on.

Harry’s been listening to Liam completely under-estimate himself for a couple of days now, ever since he first saw Sophia actually. And Zayn’s been there, talking him up and assuring Liam that he’s perfect, that he’s good enough, and that he should go for it. Harry doesn’t know what ‘go for it’ means exactly, or what it looks like, if it’s just gathering up the courage to talk to someone or actually going for it and making your intentions clear – because Liam surely only has one intention.

What Harry has managed to understand though, from hours of doubts and hours of Zayn’s pep-talks, is that Zayn is a good friend that’s ready to listen – really listen. Not once did he say he didn’t have time, not even when Liam found them in the library studying, both Harry and Zayn with their noses in the textbooks in front of them. Zayn talked to Liam until the library closed, after which Zayn bought Harry his favorite take-out as an apology for bothering him – even if Harry insisted he didn’t mind. Harry knows Zayn is a good friend, it’s just nice to see if from a different perspective.

And now they’re at it again, Liam listing of everything that could possibly be wrong with him and Zayn telling him he’s stupid for even thinking any of it, that he should just do it, that he hasn’t nothing to lose.

“What if she says no?”

“What if she says yes?”

“Really? You want to play that game?” Liam asks and crosses his arms over his chest.

“This isn’t about me, Liam,” Zayn says in a careful tone, his eyes narrowing. It’s getting interesting, Harry thinks, taking a sip of the cranberry vodka that Zayn promised was going to be Harry’s new favorite drink – and it definitely is.

“I’ll do it if you do it too.”

“No way,” Zayn shakes his head. “Not happening.”

“Fine,” Liam says and looks over his shoulder to where Sophia is talking with her friends. His eyes gleam with something Harry doesn’t know how to describe, but it looks nice, wanting in a way that Harry thinks Sophia would find endearing, flattering even. “I’m gonna go find Niall.”

“Liam…” Zayn tries to say something with his eyes, but Harry doesn’t understand the look, doesn’t speak best-friend with either Zayn or Liam, so he turns away, lets them talk privately as he watches the logs burn and fall apart, collapse down towards the ground as embers fly into the night sky.

“What are you thinking?” Zayn asks as he comes to stand next to him alone, no Liam by his side.

“That I’m getting drunk?” Harry says wearily, not knowing what the answer to that question should be. He knows he shouldn’t be getting drunk though, and he says as much too.

“You should celebrate the end of your first year of college,” Zayn says with that smile, the one that makes his eyes crinkle, but doesn’t make him push his tongue against his teeth. Harry likes this one best.

“Yeah, I know,” Harry sighs. “But I have to prepare for the summer program though.”

“You don’t have to do it tonight, right?”

“I don’t know, do you think I should?” Harry asks with an edge, because he really should have started preparing two weeks ago, but he had to study for his finals and what if it’s too late now and he won’t be able to do everything he wanted, read all of the required materials?

“No, no, no,” Zayn grabs his forearms and steadies him, looks right into Harry’s eyes. “No panicking, okay? You still have a week to do everything. You have all your materials and you’re ready as it is. You can have some fun tonight.”

“I guess,” Harry says, but he still bites into his bottom lip and looks down at the sand, thinking and reminding himself of where the freshly printed stacks of materials are, how he labeled everything he was going to have to read. “I guess I can have one more drink.”

“That’s better,” Zayn squeezes his arms once before he takes a step away and grabs Harry’s hand instead, goes to guide them back towards the bar.

Harry can have another drink.

-

Harry shouldn’t have had another drink. It’s not like he’s drunk though, he’s just drunk-er than he should be. His head isn’t spinning or anything, and he’s able to walk in a straight line, but his speech is starting to slur and he’s talking more than he has in months. He’s feeling good though, liking how it’s late enough to see the stars and the moon shining above them. It’s probably past one in the morning.

He had one more drink, just one, another cranberry vodka that tasted a little sour and a lot sweet. Harry liked that it was pink and he wonders if his tongue is pink because of it now - probably.

“Is my tongue pink?” he asks with his tongue already sticking out of his mouth.

“Yeah,” Zayn nods and laughs, a little snort escaping from his nose. Zayn had more than one more drink. “Looks sick.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Zayn says and they start walking again.

Harry’s not drunk, he really isn’t, he’s just smiling because he’s happy, because the party wasn’t actually that bad and it’s still early enough for him to go to sleep and wake up early – make sure Nick is okay before they get in the car for a five hour drive.

Harry’s smiling, because he spent the night with Zayn, talking about their summer plans. Zayn listened to Harry’s rant about the summer program, the program that Zayn says Harry will ‘fucking rock’. And Harry listened to Zayn talk about his summer plans, like his job at this gallery in Las Vegas that Zayn sent his résumé to, the only one that replied back, offering him a sort of internship for two months.

As Zayn spoke more excitedly and faster than Harry thinks he’s ever seen him, his eyes lighting up every time the subject veered back to the gallery – and Harry made sure to bring the subject back to the gallery as much as he could, because Zayn was so happy, so excited that Harry couldn’t help himself – he started comparing them and the fact they were so incredibly different.

Where Harry is always punctual, always checking to see what time it is so he knows he isn’t late, Zayn never manages to get anywhere on time. Not once did he meet Harry at five in the library when they studied together, rushing to the table Harry claimed as his own half past with an apology already on his lips. Zayn always over-sleeps; even when Harry makes sure he goes to sleep on time. Even when he slept on Nick’s bed for his exams with the alarm clock ringing for five minutes straight, Zayn still didn’t wake up. That’s why Harry was there, to pull off his covers and hand him a cup of black coffee with three sugars first thing, because Harry knows it’s the only thing that works.

Harry is neat, he’s organized and he’s meticulous. No detail is too small, no number is ever out of place. He’s known for having the best notes in class, the one’s everyone begs him to borrow, because he color coordinates the topics, the equations and the results. Harry plans things, makes sure he’s always prepared instead of losing his head over where his bag is or where his phone is. Harry never forgets his keys and Zayn never remembers to lock the doors after he leaves.

Zayn’s art is free and without any set lines, no ‘idea first then sketch then first draft’. It’s all or nothing, spray paint and quick brush strokes on canvas, as permanent as the ink on both of their arms and chests. Zayn always says pencils are for pussies and Harry gets that, the lack of a plan, of something to guide you that Harry’s always needed. Zayn isn’t afraid of skating down a hill, no brakes and no helmet. And Harry’s never stood on a skate-board – much to Zayn’s insistence.

They’re so different that Harry doesn’t know why they’re even friends. When Nick met Louis, everyone on campus knew, and not just because Nick announced it on the university’s radio for everybody to hear. Louis started hanging out with Harry and began inviting him out for coffee even when Nick was busy, continued to hang out in their room when he had his own just down the hall. And with Louis and his boisterous self came Zayn, Harry supposes, the roommate that didn’t mind being left alone in the room to have some peace and quiet to paint and that didn’t care if he had to sleep in Nick’s bed because Harry refused to leave his room so that Nick and Louis could ‘get it on’. Zayn may have came unexpectedly, but he came with a great movie collection,  a pair of his own headphones and snacks that were Harry’s favorite.

“I’m happy we’re friends,” Harry blurts out once they reach the dorm. “You’re a good friend.”

“A thank you for walking me home would have been enough,” Zayn says, but when Harry looks at him, he doesn’t look all that happy. Not as much as Harry feels, or wants Zayn to be.

“Thank you,” Harry corrects, ducks his head down and thinks of something else to say, something to make Zayn smile again. Maybe he should stick his tongue out again.

“You’re welcome.”

Harry hears how Zayn isn’t standing as far away as he was a second ago, his voice much louder than it was. He doesn’t know why Zayn is standing so close to him, the tips of their shoes almost touching, so Harry looks back up to ask. But when he does, his train of thought sputters away as Zayn presses their lips together.

Harry doesn’t know what to do, because he isn’t completely sure what’s happening, but his eyes close none the less and he still puts his hands on Zayn’s shoulders. Harry doesn’t think, doesn’t try to analyze what’s going on, doesn’t overthink it. Zayn’s lips feel soft as they’re pressed together, and his shoulders feel sturdier than what Harry would’ve thought with Zayn’s slim figure. But then Zayn steps away and Harry’s thoughts rush back all at once, all jumbled together and as incoherent as ever.

Harry blinks once, twice, and nothing changes, Zayn still stands there with his eyes wide open, expectant of something Harry doesn’t understand, can’t calculate in his head. He’d need a piece of paper and a calculator to write everything down, to try to add things up and multiply them by zero, because that’s how much sense this is making.

“See you in September,” Harry says maybe a little too quietly, because Zayn doesn’t say anything back, like he didn’t hear or something, like he doesn’t know what Harry means.

So Harry says a louder, “Bye,” and goes to walk up the stairs, opens the glass door and tries to think of where his material for the program is, how it’s labeled and marked up. Harry tries to not analyze what just happened.

* * *

 

Sophomore

Nick and Louis promised they were going to be quiet coming back from the party. Harry made them promise, because his finals aren’t over yet, he still has one more to take and ace tomorrow. He has to get a perfect score, absolutely has to if he’s to assist Jeff Cheeger on his summer lectures and seminars. It’s a one in a life opportunity that Harry is in no way going to pass. Not a chance in hell.

So he’s missing the party this year, the party that is tradition after finals, but his finals aren’t technically over, so it wouldn’t be right if he went anyway. That’s what Harry explained to Louis and Nick repeatedly for the last couple of days. But Harry isn’t so much worried about not seeing Louis drink until he vomits all over Nick’s new shoes – though missing that is a shame – he’s trying not to be sick himself, as he sits on his bed and goes over his notes. He’s good at vectors, and double and triple integrals, is the thing, but Harry can’t be sure that he’s going to get a hundred percent on the exam. Professor Atzberger is known for his complicated exams, for the tasks being connected all throughout from beginning to end. He has the system of ‘get one wrong, get them all wrong’, which Harry can definitely appreciate and enjoy the pattern of it, but it doesn’t mean he has to like it. And he doesn’t, not right now, when his notes aren’t making any sense anymore and he doesn’t know what numbers are supposed to go where.

It’s at this moment that Harry’s happy him, Nick and Louis got a place of their own, away from the dorms and fraternities and the guaranteed loud music of the parties going all around town. Living in a residential area twenty minutes away from college is finally paying off.

Louis was complaining all year, how it’s too quiet, how they have people for neighbors that aren’t supposed to hear as well as they seem to at their old age. And Harry agreed, because Nick and Louis sacrificed living among peers and parties for Harry, just so that he was able to study and do his assignments in peace.

Zayn loved their place though, loved how the area was completely untagged and un-graffitied – loved how he had the chance to change that. Harry still saw Z’s on his way to campus every morning and if he happened to miss one, Zayn would point a new one out on their way back. The couch became Zayn’s weekend bed, because all three of them could sympathize with a single-bed room in a dorm getting way too depressing on Sundays.

But Zayn’s at the party too, they all are, since Niall was appointed to organize the shindig. It’s supposed to be the best one in years, bigger than the last two final’s parties combined, with more booze that any of them could wish to drink in a month. Harry’s not all that bummed he’s missing it though, not really, because there’ll be a party next year and the year after that – and if his professors got with the program, maybe he’ll get a chance to go to those.

Right now, Harry has to go through his notes one more time, shower and then go to sleep. That’s the plan, that’s what his schedule says and that’s what Harry’s going to do. Except that right now, someone is shouting in front of his building.

Harry can’t make out what their shouting, what a guy is shouting incredibly loudly and persistently. If whoever he’s yelling for doesn’t make him stop, Harry is more than willing to take one for his neighbors and pour a gallon of water on top of the guy’s head. Harry will throw a rock if he doesn’t stop.

Well, Harry would throw a rock if he didn’t hear his name in the middle of the incredibly annoying sound of the bellowing voice. He can’t quite make out what the rest of the words are, but his name’s there, Harry’s sure. So he reluctantly gets up and prays it isn’t Louis or Nick, because he’s definitely throwing a rock if it’s either of them.

But it isn’t – it’s Zayn. Zayn’s standing in front of his building with his head angled towards the sky and his eyes closed, shouting, “Harry, let me in! Harry!” like he doesn’t know it’s past midnight and people are probably sleeping.

“Zayn,” Harry whisper-shouts back, tries to be quiet about it, but there’s no way around having to almost scream. “What are you doing?”

“Harry!” Zayn opens his eyes and smiles so brightly, Harry can see from his third floor window. “You’re home.”

“Of course I’m home. I have to study, remember?” Harry laughs, he can’t help it. Not when Zayn is this drunk.

“Let me up!”

Harry shouldn’t, he really really shouldn’t, because he has to study. Harry has to take a shower and go to sleep because tomorrow at ten, he’s taking the most important exam of his life – at least the most important to date.

“Fine. Just shut up.” He goes to the intercom and buzzes Zayn in, hoping he’ll just put him to bed and that’ll be that. Of course, Harry isn’t a particularly lucky person.

Zayn has a way about him, something Harry gave up trying to copy or learn. Zayn looks cool; he looks effortlessly in control of himself, from how his limbs work to how his face is always perfect. Zayn doesn’t have to try to turn heads or get phone numbers, find people to talk to in a library of all places. What those people don’t know, though, is that Zayn made Harry wait in front of a cinema because the new Avengers came out and he had to see it first thing. They haven’t seen Zayn’s sketches, the ones he doodles when he’s bored in class. Out of every art piece of Zayn’s that Harry’s seen – and Harry’s sure he’s seen them all – those quick mindless nothings are his favorite. They’re Zayn incarnate, the hybrid animals and the superheroes he comes up with, having powers like mind control of fruit flies and the ability to drive cars, just like that, no license or anything – though that might be because Zayn can’t seem to attain one himself. Zayn’s not as cool as his leather jacket might suggest, or his stud earrings or his cigarettes.

“You woke up half my neighbors,” Harry says when he hears Zayn slam the door shut and then possibly trip over and fall to the floor when trying to take off his boots. Harry hopes Zayn doesn’t break anything on his way to the kitchen where he’s  pouring him a glass of water.

“Good thing I don’t care about your neighbors then,” Zayn slurs, but at least he’s not shouting anymore. “What are you doing?”

“I’m getting you water.”

“You’re nice,” Zayn says and slumps onto the couch, trying to sit up but failing hilariously at it. “Have I ever told you how nice you are?”

Harry smiles, because Zayn has in fact not told him he’s nice before. And it’s a good thing, right, to be nice? “And you’re drunk,” Harry says kindly, handing Zayn the glass before he sits on the couch too, though he’s much better at it than Zayn at the moment.

“I’m not that drunk.” Zayn probably doesn’t realize that he’s still slurring because he’s probably drank more than Harry has ever in his life.

“No, not at all. You should drink some water though. It’ll make you feel better in the morning.”

“See.” Zayn throws himself upwards to sit straight, and Harry almost goes to catch him, but Zayn’s fine, he even says so before he drinks half the glass. “You’re great.”

“Thanks,” Harry laughs. “You’re great, too.”

“But I’m not,” Zayn shakes his head and slumps back, spilling the glass all over his t-shirt. He looks down, but doesn’t do much more. “I’m not great-er than Ben.”

Harry frowns. “What makes you say that?”

“‘Cause it’s true?” Zayn says more quietly now, and Harry’s still frowning, because he doesn’t get the connection. Harry doesn’t know what Ben has to do with Zayn being great, doesn’t see the line connecting the dots, doesn’t see the equation.

Harry had a thing with Ben. The thing was short, completely stupid and nothing more than a couple of dates. Harry couldn’t believe that Ben, who was the top of their class and sure to do his masters at Cambridge, asked him out. Why he asked him out is still a mystery to Harry, but what Harry now knows without a shadow of a doubt is that just because someone’s good with numbers, doesn’t mean they’re all that, even when they look like Ben does, with his ruggedness and perfect suits. Ben isn’t anything special after all, now that Harry’s had the chance to talk with him – which really was all about Ben, all of those two dates. Ben probably doesn’t even know Harry’s last name.

“You’re much better than Ben,” Harry enunciates clearly, so that even in his drunken state, Zayn understands him.

“I am?” The way Zayn asks makes Harry frown again, because he really doesn’t know where this is coming from, though… Harry also has those days where he doesn’t feel all that confident in himself. Or, really, Harry has a day on occasion when he feels kind of good about himself.

“Of course you are,” Harry says smiling, trying to nip this topic in the bud. “Now drink the rest of your water.”

But Zayn doesn’t, he doesn’t even look at the glass when he’s suddenly smooth with the way he moves again. He stares at Harry, doesn’t take his eyes away from him as he places the glass on the coffee table and leans forward. And because Harry doesn’t know what to do or what Zayn’s doing, he stays perfectly still and waits, looks back at Zayn while he tries to understand what he’s trying to do.

It takes a second too long for something inside Harry’s head to finally click, because before he knows it, Zayn’s lips are pressed against his own. Zayn isn’t moving, isn’t trying to deepen the kiss or move his hands around Harry’s waist like he did last time – almost a year ago. He’s just pressing their lips together, kissing Harry in these small pecks, kisses that Harry doesn’t know the meaning of.

But then he feels Zayn’s hand on his thigh and Harry parts his lips in surprise, in the unknown feeling of fingers running up his leg and Zayn takes the opportunity to move his lips again, to press himself closer to Harry.

It feels new, having someone humming against your lips as they kiss you and touch you so gently, Harry has to try to not make any sounds or move. It feels like it’s Harry’s first kiss, but maybe that’s because it is – his first proper kiss. Zayn still doesn’t deepen the kiss though, but he’s gripping Harry’s thigh now, his fingers digging into Harry’s skin. So Harry tries to shake his head internally before he leans his head further to the left and parts his lips a little further, a little more so that Zayn has more access.

And then Zayn kisses him, really kisses him with his tongue first running at Harry’s top lip before connecting it with Harry’s. They both moan, both release a deep breath and Harry feels like he’s melting right there on the couch Louis had dragged to their apartment.

Zayn cups Harry’s cheek with one hand as his other slides higher on his thigh, until it’s resting on the juncture of his hip underneath Harry’s t-shirt. Harry’s melting into the kiss, into Zayn kissing him and it’s almost like he can’ breathe then, because it’s Zayn and he’s kissing Zayn, and Zayn is kissing him and they’re actually kissing.

Without a second of thought, Harry jumps off the couch and feels like maybe he’ll be the one throwing up over someone’s shoes after all. He’s standing with the coffee table separating him and Zayn and this feels better, safer, knowing that Zayn can’t kiss him again.

“You should, um,” Harry stutters, tries to think of what he wanted to say. “You should drink the water.”

“Yeah,” Zayn nods and stares, not taking his eyes off of Harry again, but Harry isn’t standing still this time. He’s moving faster than ever, rushing towards the bathroom before he’s locking the door and pressing his back against it.

When Harry takes a nice long shower, standing under the spray of hot water long enough for his skin to turn beat red, he thinks. It’s usually the only time during the day when Harry doesn’t bother with turning and twisting things over and over, putting them to memory. While water is falling over his back, Harry usually doesn’t think about math or vectors or algebra. Not this time, though. This time, he’s going over formulas and numbers and letters and equations, like he doesn’t know them, like he’s trying to figure something out when there’s nothing he doesn’t know for tomorrow. It’s all there. Everything Harry wanted to know and learn, he did. But anything is better than thinking about Zayn’s soft lips and whispered moans.

It takes him a couple of minutes to gather up the courage to step out of the bathroom and into the living room, but when Harry does, with sweats and a t-shirt, there’s no one there. Zayn isn’t waiting for him and his boots are gone, which… Harry doesn’t mind, he really doesn’t care that Zayn didn’t wait, is actually more thankful that he left before Harry had the chance to make things even more awkward, but Harry didn’t mean to make him go. It is the weekend and Zayn supposed to stay over at their place, not in his lonely single-bed room in an over-crowded dorm.

-

Harry aces the exam the next day. He takes his seat, does every task from start to finish and after five hours of sitting in the coffee shop with his legs shaking, he gets an email from his professor saying he got a perfect score. It’s not unexpected, not at all, because Harry had studied enough to get nothing but, it just isn’t all that great now that he can’t tell everyone about it.

Louis calls him a nerd and Niall pats his back like a proud dad. They’re in Harry’s coffee shop, the one with the best coffee near campus with the baristas that don’t bother him every five minutes. The table is full of empty coffee cups, since Nick, Louis and Niall are trying their best not to fall asleep right then and there, but they knew how much it meant, how much passing this exam means to Harry. It means a lot to them too, of course it does. That’s why they’re there, that’s why they all promised they were going to be there when they would much rather still be asleep.

Liam is already on his way back to Vegas with Sophia – something about a family thing – so he was excused even by Louis’ standards. Other than that, all of them promised to be there, and they all are. Except for Zayn that is, who isn’t answering his texts or picking up when Harry calls him. His dorm room is empty and he didn’t come by this morning, didn’t even say goodbye to Niall before he left. Liam said he hasn’t heard from him either, but with Louis being the pestering little brat, they found out through Zayn’s youngest sister that he’s home, has been since the morning.

Harry doesn’t know what to think past the fact that he’s done with finals, that he’s done with his sophomore year and he is officially going to be Cheeger’s assistant during the summer. Maybe something happened, maybe it was an emergency and Zayn had to rush home – though Louis didn’t mention an emergency. But Harry doesn’t think about it, doesn’t think how maybe it’s his fault that Zayn left in such a hurry. Harry doesn’t bother to wonder if he did something wrong, because he’s pretty sure he’s the one who practically made Zayn leave last night – out of his apartment and out of town apparently. Harry didn’t know he had so much power. But maybe he doesn’t, maybe it really wasn’t his fault.

* * *

 

Junior

There’s an art to being as drunk as Harry is. Or at least there should be.

Junior year has been interesting to say the least. Right before classes started they all had to declare majors. Most of them, including Louis and Niall went into a teaching direction, have chosen to get a bachelors of arts instead of science, like Nick. Everyone knew Zayn wanted to be a teacher, so he declared his major as soon as they met, talking about how he wanted to fill a classroom with the student’s art works, how great it would be to help kids create something wonderfully theirs.

It’s one of the things Harry’s always admired about Zayn, the way he’s so determined on what he wants to do and who he wants to be. Zayn’s always known that he wants to teach, how he wants to teach and even where – at his old high school in Las Vegas. Harry thinks it’s rare to be so sure, to be so passionate about something so early in one’s life. He may think  it’s  kind of cute too, since it’s coming from someone like Zayn. The Zayn other people don’t know.

Harry wasn’t sure what he wanted to do at first, if he wanted to teach or if he wanted to do something as cool as cryptology. Working for the CIA has to be on every guy’s wish list, because it’s as close to James Bond as anyone can get. That’s what Harry thinks at least. But then he started thinking about a classroom full of posters about numbers and equations, the proud feeling you have to feel when one of your students passes an exam with flying colors. Harry thought about how it would be to do the simple math, the adding and multiplying for the rest of his life, the same easy formulas all around him, and well, Harry declared a major quickly after that.

Getting a bachelor of arts isn’t as easy as Harry thought at first, especially with the practical experience of being in a classroom with kids running all over the place and not caring about math at all. It’s fun though, the moments when they listen, eyes open and clear headed, to every single word coming out of his mouth.

The assignments and the seminars, all those hours spent behind books are worth it now, when Harry is desperately trying to aim for the last cup left in this beer pong round. He knows it’s physics and Harry’s never been good at physics – prefers the art of applying calculations to numbers rather than the ever changing nature – so of course he misses the shot.

Harry finished with his finals before anyone else this year. It’s been almost a week of lying around the apartment while Nick and Louis pulled their hair out and continuously claimed they didn’t have the time to shower – yet took time to keep Harry up all night. A week of sitting in Zayn’s studio while he painted the pieces for the end of the year show, the pieces he should have finished two weeks before that.

Really, if you look at it from their perspective, it’s their last year. It’s the last time they can party without that little pieces of paper in their hands declaring how done they are with college. It’s the last year that they’re still going to be able to say that they are students during the summer. It’s the last chance to laze around and enjoy the three months off, because next year they’re all going to have jobs lined up and ready. Next year, it really will be over and they really will be done.

That’s why Harry can see double now and it’s probably the reason he misses the shot, too. Louis doesn’t though, Louis puts the small ball right inside Harry and Zayn’s cup before cheers erupt all around them and Nick and Louis get bragging rights for the rest of their lives. The night could be going better.

It’s not all bad though. They got ready at their place, which meant Nick and Louis could run around like chickens without heads, searching for lost socks and misplaced scarfs. Zayn and Niall came by their building at ten, because it was the time they set up, yet it wasn’t before half past eleven that they all actually managed to shuffle towards the beach.

After that, Harry was handed a drink every fifteen minutes without fault, cranberry vodka every time, because it really is that good. He also hasn’t been left alone as of yet. Louis and Nick disappeared soon after they even reached the sand and Niall followed them immediately.

Being left with Zayn was more than optimal for Harry, since dealing with one person at a time – with Nick and Louis being the exception – was easiest for him. Especially if he knew the person as well as he did Zayn. That’s when the cranberry vodkas started coming and Harry started to lose his trains of thought one by one.

Harry is accurate, he is punctual and he is neat. That’s what he is, that’s what he would describe himself with – not funny or charming or any of the usual adjectives people use. They’re all good trades, desirable even if you ask Harry. The thing is, when he’s had five cups of anything slightly stronger than beer, that accuracy and neatness sort of fly away and disappear, and Harry is left with clumsiness and embarrassment. It’s like someone flips a switch and everything in his head goes pitch black. It’s like he goes from being a magnificent baroque painting, to a quick and powerful Pollock with a flick of wrist. Just like that, and Harry is swaying his hips to the music while he talks with people he’s never seen before.

Zayn’s been laughing next to him since Harry declared that he’s drunk loud enough for half the party to hear, but Harry just wanted to make sure that Zayn knows, that Harry isn’t always like this, that it’s the alcohol that’s making him laugh and tell knock-knock jokes. Harry isn’t usually the one dragging people to play beer-pong, but he is that person tonight, because he’s passed all his exams and he’s going to have a free summer for what might be the first time in his life. So besides being incredibly drunk, Harry’s also positively happy – even when he and Zayn lose.

“Babe, you’re switching to water,” Zayn says right into Harry’s ear, because the music is loud and Harry doesn’t know if he can even hear himself think.

“Why?” he whines and pouts, or at least Harry’s pretty sure he’s pouting. “Just one more drink.”

“You’re gonna regret it in the morning,” Zayn warns through a laugh and Harry laughs as well, because Zayn’s eyes crinkle, without his tongue doesn’t push against his teeth, and that one is Harry’s favorite.

“Fine, but you can’t drink either.” Harry crosses his arms in what he thinks is a menacing way, when really he nearly falls over in the process – but he gets there and that’s half the battle.

“Deal.” They shake hands and head back to the bar where Harry downs two water bottles. He didn’t even know he was that thirsty. Or tired.

“I think I need to go to sleep now, please,” Harry says in a whisper, because he’s afraid someone might make fun of his possibly worst drinking abilities ever. But Zayn just nods and goes to grab his hand, leading him away from the crowd.

“That was a fast change,” Zayn says once they’re walking down the almost empty street. He’s still holding Harry’s hand and Harry thinks Zayn is smart, because this is safer, this prevents Harry to just lie down on the pavement for a quick nap. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” Harry sighs contentedly, because he’s perfectly okay. He’s drunk and he had fun and this was probably one of the best nights of his life. “I’m great.”

“You look happy,” Zayn murmurs.

“I am happy.”

Zayn smiles again and Harry feels like he has to mimic it, because he wants to feel it, the smile on Zayn’s face. For a brief second Harry wonders how that smile would feel on his face, how it would be like to feel Zayn’s lips like that on his own. Maybe the smile would taste as good as it looks on Zayn, and Harry doesn’t know why he’s thinking about that when he could just kiss Zayn and find out.

So Harry does. He steps in front of Zayn and smiles like that, all happy and fulfilled with his shoulders hunched and relaxed, before he leans in and presses his lips against Zayn’s. From the first moment, Harry can taste the happiness, can feel how Zayn’s lips are still turned upwards into a smile and even if Harry can’t see, he knows Zayn’s eyes are still crinkling. It feels like Harry thought it would, like it did last time, like he’s melting again. But Harry isn’t running away this time, because Harry doesn’t want to stop kissing or feeling Zayn’s hands grab at his back like they are, like Zayn likes the taste of Harry’s lips as well.

Harry doesn’t exactly know how, but they get to the apartment. He thinks he can remember explaining to Zayn how he wanted to know what his  smile would taste like once he took a step away from him. And Harry knows that they ran the rest of the way, all the way to the front of his building where Zayn insisted he should unlock the door, because even if he drank a lot more, his hands are steadier than Harry’s. Harry remembers agreeing.

That’s all he can remember though, from Zayn struggling to unlock the building’s door before he struggled to unlock the apartment’s door and then them stumbling towards Harry’s thankfully unlocked and open bedroom’s door, because Harry wanted to kiss Zayn some more, to feel his happiness again.

Now they’re on his bed and Zayn’s on top of him, letting Harry run his hands over his hair for a change, and Harry appreciates it, because he likes the feeling of it, how short the strands are between his fingers and how he has something to hold on to as he loses himself in Zayn’s lips. But as Zayn hums and Harry can’t catch his breath, Zayn’s lips aren’t enough and now that Harry thinks of it, he wants to taste the rest of him too. So Harry does the only logical next thing, the one that follows from this equation and sits up.

Zayn is kneeling between his legs and looking at Harry without that smile, the crinkles by eyes all but gone. Harry doesn’t like it, so he kisses him again, quickly, just a press of lips before he slips Zayn’s jacket off his shoulders and grabs the bottom of his t-shirt before he pulls it over Zayn’s head. Harry has seen Zayn’s tattoos before, all of them, because Zayn always shows him when he gets a new one, just like Harry did with his own. But in the rush of things, Harry forgot Zayn has another pair of lips right there, in the middle of his chest. It’s like he wanted Harry to kiss him there, Harry thinks as he leans over and places his lips over the ink with a silent hum.

They don’t taste exactly like Zayn’s actual lips do, aren’t as sweet, but Harry still likes it, how solid Zayn’s chest feels under his lips and hands. Harry wonders what else he could kiss and what else Zayn would maybe want to kiss on Harry, if he likes how Harry can’t stop pressing his lips to Zayn’s skin. But then Zayn pulls Harry back by his shoulders and takes off Harry’s shirt too, so Harry doesn’t think anymore, doesn’t wonder about what he doesn’t have to, what he usually does. He doesn’t try to add this up and see what result he gets, because Zayn kisses his shoulder, then his chest and soon, Harry is melting again.

This is better, having Zayn’s lips on his own chest, and Zayn tasting him than the other way around. This is so much better that Harry closes his eyes and doesn’t think until they’re both out of their jeans and socks and boots, and there’s nothing left but Zayn kneeling between his legs.

Harry remembers this part; this is the part he wouldn’t forget, because Zayn was so gentle, his fingers burned into his memory. Zayn kissed his lips over and over again and he skimmed his fingers over Harry’s chest, pinching his nipples until Harry laughed and his back arched – Zayn’s smile crinkling around his eyes again. Harry couldn’t keep himself still as Zayn moved his hinds lower and lower by each passing second until he was running a single finger below his navel.

“Zayn,” Harry breathes out then, when Zayn has his thumbs hooked into the elastic of his boxers, ready to pull them down. “I’ve- I’ve never…”

Harry can’t say it out loud, can’t bring himself to say the word with Zayn hovering above him and looking down at him. Harry can’t say it, but he doesn’t have to, because Zayn understands what he wants to say.

“Do you-,” Zayn starts, but shakes his head before he says it. He looks at Harry and kisses him again. “Do you want to?”

And because Harry’s stopped thinking, because he’s probably a little too drunk, yet not nearly drunk enough, he nods and closes his eyes. With an exhale, Zayn pulls his boxers off and before Harry knows what’s happening, his back is arching and his toes are curling and he could scream because he feels so good. Zayn’s hand is wrapped around the base of his cock as he mouths at the tip, as he kisses the head, and if Harry knew what this feels like, he would’ve done it a lot sooner.

But Harry is happy that he waited, that no one has come along that Harry would feel more safe with than Zayn. Harry’s happy that it’s Zayn, because Zayn is gentle and he’s careful, and as much as he’s always late and enjoys creating chaos with Louis a little too much, he makes sure Harry is okay, that’s he’s good, that he really wants this.

Harry’s never done this before, but Zayn has and that’s also good, because it means he knows to use lube before he presses a finger to Harry’s rim and makes Harry moan like he’s never done before. Zayn knows he has to go slow, that he has to add more lube before he gets to three impossible fingers, spreading Harry and tearing him apart with each crook, each turn of his wrist. It feels like nothing Harry’s ever experienced, the stretch of it, the feeling of being so full, yet not full enough; like he’s reaching out for something, but he can’t quite get to it.

Then Zayn does something, moves his hand this way instead of that and Harry’s there, he’s holding it and his stomach tenses and he can’t keep his eyes open because it feels so, so good.

“That, there,” Harry rushes to say, because he wants Zayn to do it again and he wants Zayn to never stop exactly what he did less than a second ago.

“Yeah?” Zayn does it again and Harry thinks he can see stars.

“God, yes,” Harry tries not to moan, but he can’t hold it in or keep it behind his lips. It’s like a dam breaks, like the sky opens up to everything Harry’s been missing. But then Zayn’s pulling his fingers away and Harry wants to cry instead, because that’s just mean is what it is. And Harry opens his eyes and mouth to say as much when he sees Zayn ripping open the little plastic wrapper of a condom and Harry’s words get swallowed up.

This is it, Harry thinks and actually smiles, but it’s going to be with Zayn, who’s taken him on one too many tours of the graffiti all around town. The same figure that was running towards Harry in the pouring rain when he forgot to take an umbrella to class is now hovering above him. And Harry doesn’t know if this could get any better – when it does.

Zayn lines himself up and Harry can already feel how overwhelming this is going to be, how it’s going to tear him open before it tears him apart. Zayn steadies one of his hands next to Harry’s head while he keeps a hold on himself with the other, and before Harry has the chance to close his eyes, Zayn’s pushing in.

Harry thinks he’s going to pass out, he’s sure he’s no longer there on the bed, but he must be, because otherwise he wouldn’t feel the pain of it, how massive Zayn feels as he presses closer inch by inch, careful and in the most Zayn way. When Zayn bottoms out and there’s nowhere else he could go, Harry takes the moment to breathe and realize it’s not that bad, that he just feels strangely full.

“Good?” Zayn asks with a strain, the veins on his neck almost popping as he stays perfectly still.

Harry thinks he could kiss him right now, so he does. He pulls Zayn down by his neck and latches their lips together before he has the chance to lose himself again.

“Good.” Harry nods and lets go of Zayn. He spreads his legs a little further, as much as he can and nods again. It’s comforting to have some control in this. Harry knows he can stop whenever he wants to, that Zayn wouldn’t push him.

But when Zayn smiles again and puts him other hand by Harry’s head, Harry knows this is as right as it can be, that all the numbers add up to a perfect hundred and he would never want to stop – not in a million years.

Harry wouldn’t want to exaggerate, but saying the night was magical wouldn’t be far from the truth. As Zayn thrust are slow and steady at first, no more that languid sways of his hips so that Harry can get used to the feeling, to the immense stretch, it isn’t long before even Harry is spurring him on with whispered harder’s and moaned right there’s.

Before Harry can fully wrap his head around what’s happening and overthink the situation, his stomach starts tensing and his toes curl and he’s repeating, “I’m gonna come,” like it’s a mantra, like it’s become his newly found life motto and he wants to make sure Zayn hears it.

Zayn wraps his hand around the tip of Harry’s cock and starts palming him in tandem with his thrusts, and Harry can’t take it any longer, it’s too much to hold on. He unravels in the next second, coming all over Zayn’s hand with a sob spilling from his lips.

He doesn’t move when he feels Zayn pull out and Harry doesn’t open his eyes to see how Zayn jerks himself off against his thigh, but he can feel it, can feel how Zayn’s hand meets his legs on every upstroke. And it’s all Harry needs, to know that Zayn is still there, that it wasn’t good just for Harry. That this meant something for both of them.

-

Harry wakes up to an empty bed. There’s no one there next to him and the spot where the sheets are a mess is cold, like nothing had happened, like there wasn’t someone there before Harry fell asleep, smiling at him with crinkling eyes and swollen lips. Harry knows he didn’t imagine it, that Zayn actually was there, because he can still feel him and Harry doubts he has the brain capacity to conjure a sleepy and sated Zayn humming into the back of Harry’s neck.

Louis and Nick are surprisingly already awake when Harry emerges from his bedroom, but both are lying on the couch like it’s their last day on Earth. They don’t look all that good either.

“Morning,” Louis rasps when Harry comes to stand in front of their faces, blocking the TV. “When did you come home last night?”

“Did you hear anyone leave this morning?” Harry dismisses the question altogether – it’s not like he checked the time when him and Zayn kept running into walls.

Nick sits up abruptly, a sly expression on his face that Harry doesn’t appreciate at all as he asks, even more mischievously, “Harry Styles, did you have a boy over last night?”

Harry crosses his arms and chooses not to answer the question, because he didn’t have a boy over, it wasn’t someone Harry doesn’t know the name of or someone that he just met. Harry thought Zayn was going to stay, that it wasn’t something he had to sneak out in the morning for.

After Harry continues to block the TV screen in silence, Nick sighs and Louis face slowly turns from excited to exasperated again.

“No, we didn’t hear anyone,” Louis says dismissively, like he couldn’t be bothered. But he should be, Harry thinks stubbornly. Louis would strangle Zayn if Harry even mentioned last night. And yet, as neat as Harry usually is, he’s just as nice; a polite, kind person that wouldn’t rat on Zayn just like that- not without talking to him first. Maybe Zayn had to leave, Harry explains to himself and keeps thinking over and over for days to come.

After the finals party, Zayn didn’t just leave Harry’s bed like he was ashamed of what happened, he left town as well, and Harry doesn’t know what to think of that. Zayn went home for the summer without so much as a goodbye.

* * *

 

Senior

A sense of completion only comes when you’re actually done with something, finished with what you started. You can only say you graduated when you’re holding your diploma on a stage and your parents are getting teary eyed somewhere in the crowd, capturing everything on tape.

It was a busy year for Harry, what with trying to learn how to pass his knowledge onto younger students that he never thought he’d see again. Being a high school math teacher wasn’t in the plan Harry dreamed of when he was just a little kid in love with numbers. He thought he’d end up in front of a massive board with one of the Millennium Prize Problems in front of his eyes and itchy fingers. That was the dream: to be a world-renowned mathematician. But being a teacher and getting to mold young, impressionable minds into being just as in love with math as Harry’s always been isn’t that bad, not after he spent his final year learning how to do just that.

There was a moment when Harry was sure he was going completely nuts. At the beginning of the year, he tried to make some sort of a contact with Zayn to see if they could talk, maybe. Harry tried to get Zayn to go out for a coffee, like they always did, or for a walk in the park like the times when Harry needed to clear his head but Zayn still knew somehow that Harry didn’t want to be alone. When the new Avengers came out, Harry bought two tickets, for which Zayn thanked him and took Louis. Harry really thought he was losing it then.

Zayn didn’t budge though, didn’t want to stay at their place over the weekends anymore and rather went over to Niall’s frat. But Harry knew Zayn better than those people, and he knew how Zayn hated being in too crowded spaces – like for instance frats – that smelled like something had died there years ago. When Zayn always excused himself with being too busy painting and finishing one of his works, Harry knew he was lying, because Zayn never was that good of a student to get everything done as soon as he could. Zayn always made sure to wait till the last possible moment.

So Harry had to let it go and forget,  he had to focus on his studies and assignments and all those papers he had to write that Harry was never good at. Putting words together was never his forte, because numbers were his thing, his ticket to a Millennium Prize. Harry sucked it up and did his work, so that he can finally say he’s done with it, finished.

-

The gowns this year are atrocious, even to Harry’s unfashionable eye. They’re brown and saggy, like those bags filled with dirt. The graduates this year could blend in with worms, no problem. At least that’s what Nick’s been saying for almost two hours.

“But brown suits you,” Louis tries, not for the first time, to appease his boyfriend. Nick isn’t having it though.

“Not this brown. This brown,” Nick points at himself and makes a face as he sees the gown again. “Is the worst thing I’ve ever seen in my life. It doesn’t even deserve to be called a color.”

“It’s not that bad,” Harry suggests, because it really isn’t. “It’s not pink, right?”

“Now pink is my color.” Nick laughs and goes to stand in front of the mirror yet again, like he’s not making it worse. Harry thinks he should just let it go – it’s become Harry’s new motto: let it go. He might have watched Frozen one too many times, though.

“Are we all ready? ‘Cause we’re going to be late,” Harry warns as he eyes his wrist watch.

“They’ll wait for us.”

“It’s only right.”

“Why would anyone in their right mind wait for you two?” Is what Zayn says when he appears in front of Nick and Louis’ bedroom’s door – it’s where they’ve all been trying to console Nick.

“If they know what’s good for them…” Nick starts.

“You tell him babe,” Louis encourages as Harry shakes his head.

Zayn doesn’t bring up the foul color of their gowns this year, doesn’t even mention how awful it is, because he looks like the brown was picked specially for him. It brings out his eyes, of course it does, the honey oak of his eyes practically shining. Zayn has never looked anything less than perfect though, so Harry doesn’t stare for more than five minutes before he lets it go all over again. This ‘not obsessing’ thing is getting to be quite exhausting.

-

They’re separated by their last names, Grimshaw and Horan, Malik and Payne, and then Styles and Tomlinson almost at the end. From then on, everything goes smoothly. No one trips over the three steps to get on the stage, they all shake the Dean’s hand and hold their pristine diplomas at the bottom of the stage, posing for photos. They’re all done, all finished with running around and missing classes and refusing to go to classes when they were simply too hung-over because they didn’t listen to Harry.

Harry won’t miss having to study in the library because Louis and Nick decided to throw a spontaneous party at their place, as if they didn’t know that Harry requires nothing but peace and quiet. The nights spent cramming and trying to pound a whole textbook into his head are gone, and so is Zayn avoiding him.

They haven’t spoken, actually talked like they used to almost every day, since practically a year ago. There was this one time though, when they all had a couple of beers, when Harry found Zayn smoking out in the hallway, because Harry didn’t approve with smoking in the flat – a failed attempt at getting Zayn to quit. They didn’t talk per se, or they didn’t talk at all, really. They just sat there together, their knees underneath their chins as their backs were pressed against a wall, but they didn’t talk. Zayn smoked three consecutive cigarettes, lighting one with the other, and Harry was sure he heard him inhale a couple of times, those deep intakes of air right before you open your mouth to talk. Nothing though, not a single word was uttered in those ten minutes and Harry doesn’t know if he regrets not being the one to ask what’s going on or not. Maybe he wouldn’t have to be letting things he doesn’t want to go.

Right after Harry finishes hugging his mom  and Gemma, Niall comes over with a boisterous laugh, telling Harry they’re all going to a diner after. And Harry doesn’t want to see his family go just yet, because he wanted to grab something to eat with them, to talk about everything they’ve missed over the year, but then again, he’s going home in a couple of days and he’ll have more than enough time to do that then. He won’t get many more dinners with his friends from this point on.

So he lets himself be dragged away while he tries to wave goodbye before he starts laughing along with Niall, because they really are all done. Everyone is laughing as they walk instead of drive to the diner at the end of campus, where they usually went to grab something to eat after a night out. It’s a small place that students tend to not hang out in, because it’s not Starbucks and it’s not fancy enough. It’s half the reason why Harry likes it.

On the way there, Nick makes a show of taking off his gown and throwing it in the trash – they are supposed to return them – with everyone cheering him on and Louis suggesting he light the whole thing on fire.

“Isn’t that illegal?” Harry asks, pinching his bottom lip as he wonders if it’s against any regulations.

“They’re not gonna do it,” Zayn says from behind his shoulder, scaring the life out of Harry.

He turns around with his hand on his chest, not even trying to smile. “We’re talking about Louis here.”

Zayn waves him off. “He’s all talk.”

“He’s Louis.” Harry looks at Zayn like he’s missing the point, mostly because he is missing the point that if anyone, Louis is always ready to put money where his mouth is.

“I know him well enough to know he wouldn’t dare to actually do it,” Zayn assures him and goes to put his hand on Harry’s shoulder, but no. Harry takes a step away from him, because he isn’t looking for Zayn’s assurance any more than he is for a hand on his shoulder. That train has long left the building, Harry thinks with a frown.

And Zayn just stares at him with a raised eyebrow and his hand still reaching out, like he doesn’t know. But he does, Harry reminds himself, because it was Zayn that left him that morning, not the other way around.

Zayn’s eyes soften and he takes a step towards Harry, almost carefully enough to be approaching a baby deer. “Harry,” he says just as softly. And then he doesn’t say anything else, like Harry is expecting, is waiting and standing there for to hear.

“Come on,” Niall shouts at them from in front of the diner, where everyone apparently already went inside to take over a booth.

“We should go.” Harry aims a thumb over his shoulder and is ready to let this go as well – not that he has a choice.

“Wait.” Zayn does grab his arm now, and Harry doesn’t try to move away.

“What?”

“Just…” Zayn takes another step closer and slides his hand down to Harry’s. When he interlocks their fingers, he does it so gently that it makes Harry’s head spin as he looks down at their hands. “Wait.”

And Harry does. He waits for a minute or two for Zayn to stop biting into his bottom lip as he keeps his eyes on Harry’s, looking at him like Harry has something written on his face that he has to read. Harry waits for Zayn to take a deep inhale, the one where Harry knows he’s going to say something, something important.

“How do you not know?” Is what Zayn asks and it does nothing to make Harry understand.

“Know what?” He raises his eyebrows.

Zayn smiles, but it doesn’t look all that happy when he says, “That I love you.”

“I love you too, but I don’t get why this is so important.”

“You’re so smart, Harry,” Zayn says. “I don’t get how you can be so dumb at the same time.”

“What?” Harry frowns and almost takes his hand away from Zayn’s. He doesn’t appreciate being called stupid.

“I don’t love you like a friend,” Zayn goes to explain and something clicks in Harry’s head that makes him go, “Oh,” in the next millisecond.

“I don’t love you just like a friend.” Zayn squeezes his hand as he says it and Harry doesn’t know if he’s still breathing. “When I asked you out for coffee in first year, it wasn’t just coffee. And then I thought, okay, I’ll ask him out to dinner, right? And you still had no idea.”

“Why didn’t you say something?” Harry asks, because he doesn’t know if Zayn’s insulting him or if he’s trying to say something else.

“Because I thought you just didn’t know at first, but then I thought you didn’t like me like that.”

“You kissed me.” Harry remembers the party at the end of their first year, when he thought Zayn was too drunk to know what he was doing and instead of making him apologize, Harry had ran upstairs and saved him the trouble. “And I ran away.”

“And you ran away,” Zayn chuckles, shaking his head. “I’ve never had someone run away from me.”

Harry blushes from his face to his stomach, his hands starting to sweat. “Why did you leave though?” Harry makes himself ask, because he doesn’t want to let that go – he hasn’t been able to let it go since he woke up alone that morning. “If you liked me, why didn’t you stay that morning?”

Zayn runs his free hand through his hair, messing it up and Harry remembers what that feels like, how it felt to have his fingers in Zayn’s hair, his lips on Zayn’s chest and he should really try to focus here.

“You were so drunk, I was afraid of what you’d think,” Zayn says and blushes too. It looks good on him.

“I wasn’t that drunk.”

“You were dancing, Harry. And you never dance.”

“I was having fun,” Harry counters, because yeah, the alcohol helped a little, but that night is still the best he’s ever had, because he felt like he could dance, like he could kiss Zayn and Zayn would let him.

“I didn’t know that,” Zayn shrugs and it’s almost like he’s apologizing, but that’s not what Harry wants. He doesn’t want an apology – not now, anyway.

Harry closes his eyes for a second, before he takes a deep breath and gathers his thoughts. “I didn’t know what to think. You kissed me and I thought you were just that drunk,” he starts. “Next time you kissed me you were drunk too, and I thought, great, he’ll be sorry again.”

Zayn opens his mouth to interrupt, but Harry tightens his hold on his hand and continues. “And then we did that and you left. I had no idea what was going on.”

That’s it, that’s all he had to say. Harry just hopes Zayn gets where he’s coming from.

“I wasn’t that drunk first year, but okay, I don’t actually remember what happened after I stopped shouting at your window that one time. I think I just needed something to make me a little braver, but I never could just come out with it and tell you how much I like you.” Harry listens to every word Zayn has to say.

And when he’s done, Harry gathers up some courage too and says, quietly but with a steady voice, “I liked you too.”

“Liked me? Past tense?” Zayn asks and smirks.

“Present. I still like you. A lot.”

“I can’t believe you didn’t know I was asking you out on a date – more than once.”

“You didn’t say date,” Harry almost shouts. This isn’t his fault. “It isn’t my fault I couldn’t decrypt your words.”

“Okay, so let’s say I ask you on a date now,” Zayn rushes to say. “Hypothetically, what would you say?”

Harry tries to hold back his smile as he looks at Zayn and shrugs. “I guess you’ll have to ask to find out.”

“Oh, so now you’re gonna be all smart, huh?” Zayn laughs, and looks happy, eyes crinkling and everything.

“You could,” Harry shrugs, “kiss me. If you’d want to.”

Zayn hums, but doesn’t say anything else as he leans in and closes the space between them. Before their lips press together and Harry has a chance to melt again, he wonders if Zayn will taste the same as he did last time.

 

**Author's Note:**

> I'd love to hear what you thought. Tell me here or come to my [tumblr](http://www.itwasallaboutzarry.tumblr.com/) to chat.


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